20.

Brad presses a finger to your lips when you try to talk. You frown and stare back at him in confusion. His fingers slowly leave your lips and slide back down to your hand. The strip light above you flickers, its shadow dancing onto the blankets that are wrapped around you. A hiss from the machine beside you and another shot of morphine is delivered into your body.

“Brad,” You croak.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’ve been resting for three weeks,” You tell him.

“Ssh,” He whispers and you feel yourself relaxing as the morphine begins to flow into your system, easing the ache in your chest and the sting in your mind.

“But,” You begin, ignore Brad as he opens his mouth, “Will you tell me what happened?” You ask, “Why I woke up in here this morning? Why I can’t move? Why it hurts to breathe? Brad I can’t… I can’t remember…”

“Ssh,” He tells you again, “Okay I’ll tell you but you’ve got to stay calm, okay? And stop talking so much.”

You nod your head.

“Do you remember anything?” He suddenly asks, a frown creeping across his face.

You close your eyes briefly. Chester’s sitting beside you with a smile. You’re driving somewhere, perhaps to the beach you think because there’s a picnic basket on the backseat of your VW Bug and there’s a bucket and spade rattling in between your feet.

“I need to talk,” You smile faintly.

“Okay,” Brad nods.

“I remember going to the beach with Chester. We had Fugazi on in my car.”

Brad looks worried.

“Where is he?”

“He’s,” Brad pauses, “He’s around,” He squeezes your hand, “Mike when was this?”

“On Thursday,” You tell him.

“But what month, Mike?”

You frown, “January of course!”

“January?” Brad whispers.

“Yes,” You nod, suddenly aware of him staring vacantly ahead.

You follow his gaze. Eyes rest on a calendar. August.

“Brad?” You croak, suddenly feeling cold, “Brad what’s going on?”

“You need to rest.”

“Brad? I thought you said I’d been in a coma for three weeks, not seven months! What’s going…”

“Mike calm down.”

“Please,” You whimper, “What happened to me? Why am I in here?”

Brad untangles his hand from yours and runs it through his hair. He leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath before leaning forward again, his hand resting gently against your arm.

“You stabbed yourself Mike,” His voice is shaking.

“What?” You laugh but the look on his face is quick to hush your amusement.

“You stabbed yourself in the chest. Doctors had to perform emergency surgery on you, they,” Brad stops, “They’ll explain to you because I don’t know what they did, something about open heart surgery to repair the left ventricle,” Brad rambles, his words tumbling at out the speed of lightning.

“You nearly died Mike,” He stares right at you when these words slip from his lips, “You nearly fucking died.”

“But I,” You pause, “Why would I do that? Oh God, is Chester okay? Where is he?”

“He’s okay,” Brad whispers, “Mike you need to sleep. We can talk later.”

But how can you sleep? You stabbed yourself? You did this to yourself? You don’t believe that for one second. Where is Chester? Where are all your friends? Why is Brad crying? Why does your chest hurt so much?

Amazingly you do fall asleep.

+

Remembering is a bitch. It’s not quite as painful as going through everything again but it’s a pretty close contender to the horror you felt when Chester, the man you’d do anything for you turned your life into a fucking misery.

Another three weeks have passed since you woke up confused and scared in that sterile hospital room and you sit on Brad’s patio, overlooking his garden and further still the infamous Hollywood Hills. It’s almost September yet the heat doesn’t appear to be showing any signs of relenting. You sit with a sketch book in your lap, blank page untouched, pencil still poised between your fingers the way it has been for the past hour.

You can’t draw. You used to find it so easy. Just pushing a pencil to paper would always end in something, be it a random doodle or a sketch of the landscape but now you get nothing. It’s the same with writing. You spent several hours yesterday staring into a blank notebook, pen merely scrawling star shaped patterns into the margin.

And as for speaking?

That’s another thing you’re struggling with apparently.

“Ten points to Chester,” You mutter under your breath.

A mew sounds in your ears followed by something soft rubbing against your legs. You put the sketchbook and pencil on the floor and pick up Bertie, pressing his ginger, fluffy body against your face.

“You believed me, didn’t you Bertie?” You whisper.

His green eyes narrow and he pushes his nose against your chin, whiskers tickling you. You let him go and he pads around in your lap, claws gripping onto your legs until he settles down in a neat pile. Your hand rests against his head, fingers absently stroking the fur behind his ears as you gaze out over the hills.

“So this is where you’re hiding.”

Your trance like state is broken when Brad walks out of the kitchen, hands carrying platefuls of food. You look away as he places them down on the wicker table and sits down across from you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this view,” He tells you.

You didn’t think you’d ever tire of Chester hurting you. But you don’t tell him that.

“I don’t suppose you feel like helping me to eat this lot?”

You shrug.

“Well,” Brad slowly gets to his feet again, “Help yourself. I’m just getting some water.”

His footsteps fade away and you glance back to the patio doors, watching Brad disappear inside. Then out of nowhere you get to your feet and place Bertie down into the wicker chair and you walk across the yard to the back gate. You let yourself out, gently closing the gate behind you and then you walk away, feet crunching against gravel in time with your pounding heart.

You have to stop several times on the way and by the time you’ve turned into a familiar street that you feel you haven’t seen for an eternity, your shaking hands are reaching into your pocket for your new best friend, your Ventolin inhaler. By the time you’ve caught your breath you’re standing outside your apartment, eyes staring up at the sloped grass verge and the neatly kept flower beds, then the garish ‘For Sale’ sign that sticks out for all to see.

It smells musty inside so you walk around opening the windows. The fridge is empty and from the way that everything is dust free and sparkling you figure your step mom must have been in here a few times. You make a mental note to get the key off her before you sell this place. The sooner you sell up, the better. It’s not like you have anything to stick around here for anymore, is it?

You end up in your bedroom. You’re not sure why, it’s just the direction your feet carried you once you’d stepped out of the too-hot kitchen. You stand in the middle of the room, staring out of the window. It’s the same view as Brad’s garden holds only further toward the ocean. Strands of sand fold around the bottom of the yard and you find yourself drawn to the balcony, pushing through the doors and letting the fresh air whip around you.

This, you think to yourself, this is the place where you and Chester used to sit together and watch the sun set. It was about as cliché as it could get really; two lovers wrapped in tartan blankets and one another’s arms, watching the sun slide down in the horizon. It was probably one of the best times of your life though, probably something you’re never going to capture again.

You turn away and walk back into the bedroom. You hate the way everything seems to smell of Chester. From the bed sheets to the scattered cushions to the air that circulates through you when you open the closet doors. It sickens you to know that he’s still here, still clinging on to every single fucking part of you. Yet a part of you is scared to think of him not being there anymore.

A dejected sigh leaves your lips as you sit down on the bed with a dull thud. Cradling one of the cushions against you, you realise that had none of this shit happened you would just be finishing Projekt Revolution. It pains you to think how much you’ve let the other guys down. They were looking forward to it so much. So many months and late nights of planning had gone into it only to have it snatched away just like that. You feel so guilty.

You fold your legs beneath you and gaze around the room, realising it’s probably best you get packing. Your flight to Greece leaves in two days time and your father is expecting you. Funny how the first time you spoke to him in years was because you wanted somewhere safe to stay. Funny how the only safe place is the other side of the world. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself because a huge part of you doesn’t really want to leave. Only this is what people do when their lives have fallen apart, isn’t it? They start over again.

Getting to your feet you walk back into the closet, hands running along the rails of clothes that greet you. You’ve already decided to donate the majority of them to charity, if only for the fact that they were chosen by Chester or given to you by Chester or worn when you were being royally fucked over by Chester. You push a gap in the clothes and duck under it, hands reaching for the suitcase that lives at the back of the walk in cupboard.

As you pull it out something clatters to the floor and you sigh in annoyance, hands grappling to find the offending object. When your fingers clamp around it you freeze, immediately knowing what it is and you slide it out and stare at it; one dust covered shoebox.

The thing is, as you’ve settled back down onto your bed, it’s not just any shoebox. You slide off the lid and feel your eyes automatically welling up with salty tears. You’re sick to death of crying but you can’t help yourself. You feel like you’re taking one step forward and fifty steps back because everything; everything in your world points back to Chester.

And you miss him so badly it fucking hurts even to breathe.

You started saving things because you were so helplessly in love. Now a small part of you finds it hard to see what you could have ever loved about Chester, which is strange really as you can’t stop thinking about him and there are nights when you long for his arms to cradle you and rock you to sleep. You push that thought to the back of your mind and your cold fingers wrap around the contents of the shoebox.

Photos, Cds, concert tickets, letters; they all scatter themselves over the bed sheets. You pick up one of the cards, tears blurring your vision as you open it up. It’s probably the last thing Chester did for you that didn’t result in cuts or bruises or heart surgery. And you wish you could go back to that day because you wouldn’t have thought about ending things, you would have stayed with him and been a stronger person. You wouldn’t have been this coward who couldn’t face up to what he is; you wouldn’t have been sitting here now staring at the bright red Valentine card with trembling hands.

You put it back down just as you hear the front door slamming.

Your heart skips a beat and for a few seconds you are frozen in your spot, hands clinging onto the sides of the bed as the sound of footsteps echoing downstairs resound in your ears. Somehow you manage to get to your feet, to stumble over to the door and grip onto its frame. A shadow appears on the hallway wall, and your breath hitches in your throat as it gets bigger and the footsteps get louder and…

“Brad.”

You feel faint as he appears at the top of the stairs, frowning at you because you probably look like you’ve seen a ghost.

“God, I thought I’d find you here,” He pauses as he walks over to you, “What the fuck dude? One minute you were there, the next you’d disappeared. I was freaking out…”

“I’m sorry,” You croak out, heart beat still pounding at an unnecessary speed.

“It’s okay,” Brad sighs, “I understand if you don’t want to be around me but, y’know, you could have like, said something, perhaps told me where you were going?”

“Sorry,” You sigh, backing into your bedroom, “I just wanted some fresh air, I didn’t even know where I was going.”

Brad offers you a warm smile. A few months ago it would have meant the world to you. Now it means nothing.

You sit back down on the bed and moments later Brad is sitting beside you, his arm sliding around your waist.

“Please don’t go to Greece,” He suddenly says.

“Brad,” You sigh, “We’ve already spoken about this.”

“I know. I thought I could change your mind.”

You shake your head. He sighs and changes the subject, for now; you know he’ll bring it up at some point again.

“What’s all this?” He asks, leaning over to you and picking up a handful of photos.

You don’t want him touching them, don’t want his dirty fingerprints on their glossy surfaces but it’s too late, he’s looking through the pile and his face is suddenly looking rather sad. You hate yourself for thinking so but he deserves to look that way.

“It’s a shame you didn’t see these before you came to sign me away to the mental hospital,” You tell him coldly, eyes scanning over the photo he’s staring at of you and Chester with your arms around one another; kissing.

Brad gulps. He doesn’t say anything for a while, instead gazes at the photos until he’s looked at them all at least twice. Then he leans back over you and places them back into the box.

“Have you considering what might happen if the police were to see them?”

You shake your head.

“You ought to show them you know? They could use them as evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“Yeah, Mike you…”

“Brad I’m not going to the police.”

“But you stand a good chance of seeing him get sent down for what he did to you.”

You sigh. This isn’t the first time Brad’s mentioned it. He talked about it last week when he was met with a cold stare and a door slammed in his face.

“No.”

“So, what? Are you just going to let him get away with it?”

“You think that’s what I’m doing?” You snap.

Brad shrugs.

“Let me ask you something. Is this what you were like with Chester when he made you think I was the guilty one huh? Were you spurring him on to get me arrested and locked up?”

Brad looks down to his lap. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to answer. The silence is emphasised by a lone tear sliding down his cheek. That says it all really and you gulp and turn away from him because you were so scared back then, so fucking scared in that hospital and he; he was sat with Chester eating up every single lie he told and probably urging him to get justice; to have you locked up.

“He made it all so real Mike,” Brad suddenly speaks, “He had the scratches and the scars and the fear in his eyes. You’d been acting so out of character that suddenly everything he said made utter sense to me. I didn’t want to believe him but I ran out of ways to explain your behaviour.”

“So you believed him. Even when I was telling you he was lying? You believed him. Over me. Do you know how much that hurts Brad?” You whisper, “To know that the one person I’ve known my entire life didn’t even believe me?”

Brad tries to answer but all he can do is cry.

“I was scared Brad, I was so fucking scared and all I needed was you,” Your voice cracks, “I always thought I could count on you.”

“You can,” Brad cries out.

“No,” You shake your head, “No I can’t. And for your information I’m not letting Chester get away with anything.”

Brad laughs, “He’s still out there Mike. I mean, he’s a free man.”

“Yeah and having him locked away is going to achieve what?”

“Justice?”

“Oh, so you are familiar with that concept?”

Brad sighs, “He’s out there Mike, God knows where. I mean, what if he does this to someone else? How are you going to live with yourself if you find out he goes on to attack other people?”

“This wasn’t some random attack Brad,” You stare at him, “Chester’s not like that.”

“I don’t understand how you can defend him.”

“I’m not. Chester wanted me Brad and that’s something he’s not got. That’s his punishment along with knowing he’s got to keep looking over one shoulder just in case the laws that be are after him because he fucked off when I was dying in your arms, he doesn’t know what’s happened since, does he?”

“So you’d rather he was out there than behind bars?”

“Yes,” You spit out, “You think I’d get any satisfaction from seeing him locked away?”

“I would.”

You have to wonder if Brad spoke with as much malice about you when he thought you were hurting Chester. There was a time when you would have laughed at that notion. Now you wouldn’t doubt it.

“It doesn’t work like that for me,” You sigh, “I can’t suddenly stop loving someone.”

And Brad stares at you, slightly taken aback by your words. It doesn’t bother you; you’re just as shocked too. But that’s what it comes down to really.

You still love Chester so much.

You wish he was here.

+

TBC…